


she didn't use her heart (and other lies)

by blackfirewolf



Series: sunshine, sunshine [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Bittersweet Ending, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Death, Denial of Feelings, Disabled Character, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Illnesses, Major Character Injury, Major Illness, Nicknames, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Queer Character Death, Romance, Worldbuilding, tw warnings for:, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26488705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackfirewolf/pseuds/blackfirewolf
Summary: “Oh, my dear Sunshine,” Lionwing whispered, “I love you, too.”Sunflank did not correct her.-----------The life and loves of the warrior Sunflank.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Series: sunshine, sunshine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1925707
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	she didn't use her heart (and other lies)

**Author's Note:**

> this was written last summer, originally started as just a few sappy moments between background characters that evolved into a 14k mess, and i maintain that i peaked with this. that's it! nothing i write will be better than this dumb story about my lesbian warrior cat ocs!! i just have to accept that!!!
> 
> shout-out to every friend who read this and cried. i'm sorry <3

The leader had never seemed more like a leader than he did at his perch, looking down at the assembly of the clan, and Sunkit felt something inside her shrink, even though she refused to let it show on her face. “Sunkit,” he called, and the quality of it was like a dream. The moonlight, gleaming off the treetops and framing the glow of his eyes, the unblinking presence of her clanmates surrounding her. The wind did not blow and the stars seemed to be holding their breath. “Come forward.”

The ground was cool and firm, and Sunkit lifted her chin to look up, knowing she was small, too small, but praying that their leader would see her, anyway. “I am here,” she said, and her voice echoed like the purring of her mother in the nursery.

“I have consulted with both Cinderclan’s healer and Starclan, and they have agreed that the time for your apprenticeship is now.” A pause swallowed the night, suffocating and timeless, as Sunkit stood alone in the middle of the camp, looking up. “Sunkit, from this moment on, you shall be known as Sunpaw.”

The leader nodded his head. “Cedarpelt, you are ready to take on another apprentice; you will be mentor to Sunpaw. You have shown yourself to be a humble, honorable warrior—do what you can to pass these qualities on to Sunpaw. May Starclan guide your paws.”

The leader leapt from his perch, feet making not a sound, and bowed his head as Sunpaw rose to meet the touch to her forehead. A moment later, she turned to her new mentor, drinking in the hard corners of his face, the steel in his gaze. His forehead to hers was as firm as the earth beneath her paws, the steps of generations upon generations of their clan leaving it as smooth and unrelenting as stone.

A ripple of noise issued from the edge of the clearing, and without warning, it swelled to a crescendo, a storm chorusing her new name and celebrating the first step of her journey. It made Sunpaw overflow with pride, molten over her heart and burning through her chest, at the faith her clan had in her.

They moved to the side, and she lifted her chin, radiating pride and comfort as she stood by a mentor who would help her to be great. And she would be—great, that is.

For a moment, all was still in Sunpaw’s world: a path set in stone, a destiny to be nothing but a great warrior, ambitious and proud and all she could be. But then the clearing exploded into a new round of noise, calls cheering on her new apprentice-mate that, until that moment, she had been ignoring as best she could. “Lionpaw! Lionpaw! Lionpaw!”

Sunpaw kept her head high, watching the way the new apprentice bounded across the clearing, the way she seemed no more than a kit with her ridiculously fluffy pelt and the overeager shine of her eyes. She displayed such joy, a happiness Sunpaw shared but forced down, keeping a regal front to impress the leader looming over them, the mentor sitting straight next to her, her clanmates gathered for this ceremony. But Lionpaw, her apprentice-mate, almost seemed to bounce across the clearing on the heels of her own mentor, mouth stretched into a look so open that it was like staring into the sun.

“We’re apprentices now!” Lionpaw whispered to her, leaning in so close that Sunpaw felt the tickle of her fur being brushed along her jaw.

Sunpaw scowled, not responding as she continued to stare out. But Lionpaw didn’t move from her side, didn’t stop her smile from beaming out at the world—and in the end, Sunpaw didn’t tell her to stop.

…

The heavy summer breeze curved around Sunpaw’s face, ruffling her whiskers and sending a shiver down to the tip of her tail. She tipped her head back, drinking in the warmth of the rays, the smell of pine and cedar, the merry trickling of the stream nearby. This is something she loved, something she’d longed for since she’d first opened her eyes and peered out of the nursery into the bright and vibrant world beyond. Even the scolding of her mentor didn’t stop her from going off on her own, to wander Cinderclan’s territory and feel peace drape itself like a cloak over her shoulders.

The crunch of undergrowth drew her ear—a song, a melody, sweeter than the summer wind and reverberating beneath her paws. The tug of fur snagging on brush, the muddled sink of claws into roots and earth.

“There you are,” sang the voice of all the good in the world. Sunpaw simply tilted her head in greeting, allowing her eyes to sink shut.

“Hello, Lionpaw,” she said, and felt the world grow ever warmer with the answering purr of her apprentice-mate.

“What are you doing out here?” Lionpaw asked, and Sunpaw could picture her in her mind: the eager, curious grey of her eyes, the slight tilt of her head in question, the ruffled fur that stuck out in clumps no matter how much she groomed. An apprentice, like her, with paws she had yet to grow into and boundless energy that lasted long after the moon rose in the night sky.

Sunpaw did not open her eyes, and she did not respond, either. She rose a single shoulder as an indifferent gesture, aware of the way Lionpaw came closer and closer, her gentle breathing wrapping around her with each step, the way her heart beat steadily faster.

“Your mentor isn’t gonna be happy you ran off on your own again,” Lionpaw scolded, but her voice was light and was occupied by a playful push that Sunpaw shuddered away from, pretending she did not want to lean over and return the touch, trying to convince herself she was annoyed at having her solitude disturbed.

“And what would your mentor say?” Sunpaw shot back, finally letting her eyes blink open. It was just in time to see Lionpaw’s smile—wide and all-consuming in its happiness, eyes twinkling with life and mirth.

“Probably that you’re a bad influence,” she replied cheekily. Her tail flicked up, large and bushy and sweeping over the entirety of Sunpaw’s face. The Abyssinian sputtered, swiping a paw out and scowling at her apprentice-mate.

But ultimately, Sunpaw found she didn’t bother to pull away when Lionpaw simply laughed and swatted at her in response, even if she could have easily dodged.

…

The night was still and quiet. Sunflank let her gaze linger upwards, to where the stars danced above the treeline, and resisted the urge to yowl to the sky, to declare her warrior name over and over like her clanmates had done only a few short hours beforehand. It was what she had worked for since she could understand what a warrior even _was_ —and finally, her training was complete. It was an incredible, all-encompassing feeling.

Next to her, equally quiet in their nighttime vigil, Lionwing sat primly. The name suited her, Sunflank thought. Equal parts fierce and unrelenting, yet also soft and swift and a million other words that couldn’t even begin to describe the nature of her best friend.

Yes, Lionwing was her friend—perhaps the only friend Sunflank could confidently say she had, as she had always been more interested in training than bonding with her other apprentice-mates. But while all the others had shared tongues and groomed each other, like close friends did, Lionwing had always sought out Sunflank instead—to talk, even though the Abyssinian rarely gave a sign that she was listening, or to attempt to groom her ears until Sunflank snapped at her to back off. The closeness was always too much and yet somehow always not enough, and Sunflank felt that now, too, like Lionwing was the sun drawing her in with its warmth and unwavering affection.

“We’re warriors now,” Lionwing murmured, her voice a low hum. A melody befitting of the night, that sank into Sunflank’s very bones. She wanted to shift into Lionwing’s space, to close the gap that existed between them and feel only her warmth, her fur that even now was as ridiculously fluffy as when she was a kit. Sunflank could only close her eyes, letting out a noise of agreement that sounded too loud for the atmosphere surrounding them.

She felt rather than saw when Lionwing moved, the fur along her shoulders and back prickling with the sensation as her friend gently licked a stripe down the side of her ribs. It had been a long time since someone else had groomed her, Sunflank realized. Perhaps the last time was her mother, when she was just a kit. It wasn’t that she didn’t groom herself—she had just never considered the closeness of another, of allowing time for such frivolous things when she could be training or hunting instead.

“Is this alright?” Lionwing whispered, gently moving up her shoulder and gingerly nudging her neck. Her touch was simultaneously heated and yet somehow also like the first snowfall of the winter, a feeling that left Sunflank so tongue-tied that Lionwing drew back a little in concern. Her eyes locked onto hers, full of compassion and patience, a smoky grey like rainclouds before a storm, and Sunflank wondered what Lionwing saw in her own eyes that could prompt such a look.

Clearing her throat, Sunflank managed to weakly reply back with, “It’s alright, Lionwing.” With a jolt, she realized it was the first time she had said her friend’s new name out loud. No longer was she Lionpaw, a kit that leapt with joy during her apprentice ceremony, who was hesitant to fight her apprentice-mates in training even with claws sheathed, who disliked the summer heat so much it was almost humorous, and who would try to groom her friend’s ears no matter how many nips and hisses she got in return. And it wasn’t just her name that had changed, either. Her muscles were defined beneath her pelt, her form poised and controlled from moons of hard work and dedication.

Beneath it all, however, she knew that Lionwing’s core was just as earnest and understanding as when she had first drawn Sunflank in, despite Sunflank’s best efforts to remain detached and independent. Sunflank couldn’t help but feel relieved at that realization—that perhaps there was some good in things remaining the same, no matter how quickly life changed.

Lionwing let out a soft, amused purr, drawing her tongue over the ridge of Sunflank’s spine, dipping into the ridge between her shoulder-blades. “You always were a tough one, did you know that Sunflank? Every time I thought I had made progress, that you were starting to like me, you’d turn around and run away. The amount of times Cedarpelt had to track you down! It got to the point that he wouldn’t even be angry; he’d just sigh and go off to search for your newest hiding spot, sometimes dragging you back long after training was over with the others. And I knew you were doing it on purpose, to avoid us.”

There was an odd texture to Sunflank’s mouth, similar to the time her mentor had knocked her down too hard during training and she’d gotten a mouthful of sand. “…I liked you.”

Lionwing moved up her neck, smoothing down the fur and pausing just a moment before moving on to her ears. “Oh, Sunflank,” she said, voice ringing with laughter and brightness, “I know that.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” she interrupted. “I know you guard your heart as fiercely as you guard Cinderclan’s borders. But borders just exist in where we place them.”

Sunflank swallowed roughly, paws trembling as Lionwing moved from her ears to her forehead. After a couple more strokes, she drew back, seemingly satisfied with her grooming, but Sunflank realized she didn’t want it to end. She didn’t want this closeness to be over, to retreat to a time and place where she watched the night sky all on her own. She wanted to end their warrior vigil and curl up together like she’d seen so many other pairs do. She wanted to settle down in the warrior’s den just as light began to filter through the trees, Lionwing pressed to her side, and her purr singing her to sleep.

Chasing that impulse, she lunged forward, ducking her head beneath the Siberian’s chin and pressing her body to hers. For a moment, Lionwing froze and Sunflank felt her heart pound in embarrassment and shame, wondering if she should draw back, if she was too stiff and too guarded, as Lionwing said, to be able to comprehend the easy way in which Lionwing bared her heart and soul to the world.

“Oh, my dear Sunshine,” Lionwing whispered, “I love you, too.”

Sunflank did not correct her.

…

Sunflank was not in a good mood. She’d woken up before the sun had risen, to black skies that promised another storm before the day was out. It was a miserable season, full of heavy snowfalls that buried the prey and forced the clan to retreat to the central area of the camp, huddling together for warmth. And while Sunflank hated the cold, she hated the lack of space even more—the way she woke constantly from the sounds of all her clanmates surrounding her, the way they pressed up against her, the way she couldn’t get even a single moment alone for just herself.

She was on hunting duty now, and even though it was barely halfway through the day, she knew already that she would be going to sleep with a hollow belly that night. Her paws ached at the chill as she struggled through drifts, her scowl deepening until her head ached with the beginnings of a tension headache. The world around her was too crisp, too bitterly cold, and she longed for the springtime that was still at least a moon away.

Her ears flicked at the slight scuffling at the base of a tree trunk. A moment later, she had a mouthful of blood and scraggly fur. A mouse that was barely more than a bite or two, given how starved it was, and Sunflank wanted to yowl her frustration at not being able to provide for her clan.

“Good catch,” Lionwing said, striding up next to her. Unlike the Abyssinian, she seemed unbothered by the chill, her broad shoulder easily pushing through the deeper snow. Normally, such a sight would fill Sunflank with a gentle fondness—but after so many days of cold, of not having a moment to herself, all she felt was irritation.

“I said I would be hunting alone today, Lionwing,” she said stiffly, turning her back to her mate. Hopefully the use of her full name would tip Lionwing off to the fact that Sunflank wanted to be alone in her misery.

Lionwing let out a low hum. “I know. I just wanted to check on you.” A pause stretched between them, in which Sunflank refused to respond as she crouched over her catch. “We haven’t been able to be by ourselves for awhile now.”

“We’re in crisis mode right now,” Sunflank snapped, “so of course we haven’t had time to sit around together! In case you haven’t noticed, half the clan is _starving to death_.”

A stiff silence followed her outburst, until Sunflank felt regret gnaw at her chest. Lionwing wasn’t noisy by any means, but she’d never stood silent in the wake of Sunflank’s frequent grouchy moods; she always had a comeback or laugh in response, no matter how mean Sunflank could get, to dispel the tension and soften her edges. Now, though, when Sunflank finally looked up, Lionwing was staring at the ground, unmoving and mouth drawn in a thin line.

She should apologize. Sunflank knew that. She might not have been the most charismatic, but she wasn’t oblivious—and it was all too clear that something was wrong with her mate.

“We can spend more time together in the spring,” she offered, hoping Lionwing would understand that it was a peace offering.

Lionwing’s face didn’t change; if anything, she only seemed to become more withdrawn. “I know, Sunflank,” she said in a low voice. “I know you need time alone. I’ll leave.”

Dread filled Sunflank, a churning mix of shame and desperation fighting for dominance in the base of her empty stomach. “Wait,” she blurted out, feeling dazed as Lionwing paused but did not look back. The mouse lay abandoned between them, a few spots of blood dotting the snow in a vibrant stain that Sunflank could taste on her tongue. She didn’t know what to say—and she desperately wished she did, so her mate could understand the mess of emotions Sunflank herself couldn’t put a name to.

“Sunflank.” Lionwing turned and her eyes finally rose to meet hers, more steely and resigned than Sunflank had ever seen before. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Everything froze. Sunflank couldn’t breathe, let alone speak, and all she could focus on was the curve of Lionwing’s head bent low, her eyes that familiar shade of grey that Sunflank loved so dearly. She hadn’t turned all the way around, her stance poised like she was going to continue to walk away. Something about it turned Sunflank’s stomach—the wary way she stood, shoulders hunched in a way that betrayed her fear, the tense lines digging into the soft planes of her usually open and happy expression.

“How long?” Sunflank asked, voice much too flat even to her own ears.

“How long have I known, or how long until the kits arrive?”

Sunflank clenched her jaw. “How long have you known?”

Lionwing’s gaze fell away, focusing on the ground yet again. “I had my suspicions the past few weeks. But I went to the healer this morning, and she agrees. In the spring, I’ll have a litter.”

The wind whistled between the bare trees, sending a swirl of loose snow into the air. Sunflank stood carefully, ignoring the prey at her feet to walk towards her mate. Lionwing looked up again at her approach, everything about her screaming exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s a lot and we never—”

“Lion,” Sunflank interrupted, softening her voice to merely a soft whisper, “I love you.”

Lionwing stared at her. Sunflank wondered, in that moment, if the rare moments in which she spoke such sentiment aloud were enough. She had thought that Lionwing knew how much she meant to her. But maybe her tender-hearted mate needed more reassurance of Sunflank’s dedication to their relationship than Sunflank had been giving her.

And that, Sunflank knew, was entirely her own fault.

“I love you,” she said, confidence welling up above the rest of her emotions. “I love you like I love my clan, this forest, the wind in the trees and the stars in the night sky. I love you when you laugh, when you smile, when you complain and cry, when you do nothing but tease me until I have to restrain myself from shredding your ears into strips. There is nothing you could do that could make me stop loving you.” Sunflank leaned her forehead to Lionwing’s, ignoring the tears streaming down her mate’s face. “Lion, I love you, and I can’t wait for the day that my love will grow to include our kits. I can’t promise it’ll be easy—but I can promise, _I’ll never stop trying_.”

They stood like that for awhile, Sunflank pressed to Lionwing as she shuddered and calmed down. Finally, Lionwing pulled back, letting out a watery laugh. “Oh, my dear Sunshine, you always manage to surprise me, don’t you?”

“I try,” Sunflank replied, feeling a smile twitch across her face as her mate laughed again. “Would you like me to do it again?”

Lionwing let out a purr, rubbing her chin along Sunflank’s jaw. “I doubt you can surprise me anymore than you already have, but you’re welcome to try.”

“We should have a bonding ceremony.”

Lionwing immediately startled back, blinking in astonishment at her. “ _What?_ ”

“In the spring,” Sunflank explained, “before the kits are here. We’ve been mates since we became warriors. And there’s nobody else I’ll ever want to be with, now or forever—only you, Lion.”

For a moment, Lionwing simply gaped at her, seemingly unable to respond. Then she laughed yet again, this time bright and nearly hysterical. With a shake of her head, she said, “Consider myself surprised for the second time.”

“I assume you agree?”

Lionwing snorted and laid her head against Sunflank’s shoulder. “In the spring,” she said by way of an answer, “before the kits arrive. We’ll cover the whole camp in flowers, and feast until our bellies hurt, and sing and dance until everyone else in the clan falls asleep on their feet.”

“That sounds awful,” Sunflank noted. She let out a chuckle when Lionwing swatted her ear, scowling playfully.

“That’s our bonding ceremony you’re talking about!” she complained, but her expression was once again soft and relaxed.

The forest around them might have been buried in snow and Sunflank might have been chilled to her bones, but in that moment, Lionwing was all she needed to feel warm. The press of their fur, side-by-side, and the steam of their breathes intertwining—it felt like something… whole.

Sunflank felt it, even if she didn’t have the words to even begin to describe it. 

…

Sunflank paced outside the nursery, her tail lashing back and forth so that none of her clanmates dared approach her. The sun had risen and set since Lionwing and the healer had retreated into the shadowed confines of the den, and the twilight air smelled as sweet as a fresh rain. Sunflank couldn’t enjoy it, though—not when she knew that her mate was in labour.

At the first pained wail, she had barrelled her way into the den, but when Lionwing had looked up, she’d done nothing more than violently hiss and spit at her. Her eyes had been glazed with pain, alit with a primal fury that held nothing but an animal urge to defend, and Sunflank had been quick to retreat. Right now, Lionwing wasn’t her mate—she was a mother in labour, willing to do anything to protect herself and the kits she was birthing.

Still, it didn’t mean that Sunflank had to like it. Multiple clanmates had crept up to her, trying to offer comfort, but she had snapped at all of them until they backed off, resigning themselves to the Abyssinian relentlessly pacing the length of the camp and flinching with each pained pant that echoed out of the nursery’s depths. By this point, most of the clan was sitting on the fringes of the camp, finishing up their meals and sharing tongues before night set in. Sunflank paused to watch as two apprentices wrestled, one squealing as their friend kicked up at their exposed belly and chest before managing to flip themselves upright.

Just the day before, curled up in their nest, Sunflank had laid her head over Lionwing’s swollen belly, and simply listened to the steady beat of her mate’s heart. Every so often, she had felt the gentle movement of one of the kits kicking, as if they were restless to see the world, and it had reminded her that it was all real. They had never discussed having kits—their relationship had still felt too new, even though they’d grown up together and had officiated their status as mates right after their warrior ceremonies—but Sunflank didn’t regret it. She just couldn’t deny that she was nervous.

No, that was wrong—Sunflank was downright _terrified_.

“Sunflank?” came a gentle murmur, and she whipped around so quickly she almost fell over. The healer, Gentlemoon, blinked at her lazily and waited for Sunflank to orient herself. It had been quiet for awhile now, Sunflank realized, and she berated herself for not recognizing what that meant sooner.

“Well?” she demanded. Gentlemoon simply stepped aside, giving a single nod. Her eyes, like always, radiated a calmness that Sunflank was suddenly lacking. Nevertheless, Sunflank stood up straight, puffed out her chest, and strode into the nursery with all the confidence of a warrior going into battle.

The inside was shaded and dark, while the air was heady, scented with moss and dirt and the fading tang of blood. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it wasn’t awful, either. Sunflank’s ears pricked at a soft mewling, and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she focused on the heap of fur that was her mate. At her quiet footsteps, Lionwing stirred, sitting up and blinking sleepily at her mate.

“My dear Sunshine,” she purred, and Sunflank leaned down to press her forehead to hers, taking a moment to just breath in her familiar scent, finally allowing the anxiety to seep from her bones.

“Are you alright?” she murmured, hesitant to break the hush settled over the den.

Lionwing let out an amused sound. “I’m fine,” she said, “Gentlemoon said everything went well. All the kits are strong and healthy.”

Sunflank swallowed and let her eyes drift down, locking onto the bundles of fur latched onto Lionwing’s belly. She’d meant only to peek, but it suddenly felt like she’d been frozen—like time itself was standing still, echoing with the tiny mewls of newborn kits, eyes sealed shut and fur already fluffed and standing on end from where Lionwing had groomed them clean. Sunflank didn’t feel what she’d heard from parents before. There was no immediate spark of love for the little scraps of life at her feet—and yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from them.

They were a part of her, she realized. A part of her and Lionwing. A part of their clan, their life, their world.

“Four,” said Lionwing, and her voice was overflowing with love and pride. “Three boys and one girl. Our kits, Sunflank.”

Sunflank finally managed to look away, settling herself down so she could lay next to her mate. She couldn’t find the words, but she blinked long and slow, hoping Lionwing would see the emotions behind her eyes—the star-struck wonder colliding with fear and contentment and her promise to never stop trying. Even if Sunflank was never the most openly loving of felines, she already knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would lay down her life for these kits, that she would give anything to ensure they grew up safe and happy and strong. And not just because they were her flesh and blood—but because she knew there was room in her heart for them.

“I know it’s a lot,” Lionwing whispered, “but…”

“I promised.”

Lionwing sleepily let out a purr, snuggling her head beneath Sunflank’s chin; a wordless reminder that she loved her and understood the complicated emotions that were too much to discuss at that moment. Gently, Sunflank gave a lick to Lionwing’s head, following the curve of her jaw and tasting the sweet perfume of her fur, mingled with the scents of their newborn kits. Their family.

As her mate drifted off to sleep, Sunflank didn’t take her eyes off the four kits cuddled to their sides.

…

Sunflank yawned widely, stretching her paws out and allowing the cool night air to wash away the drowsiness that lingered in her limbs. Beside her, Lionwing did the same, groaning as she arched her back and shook out her fur.

“It feels like I’ve been in the nursery for forever,” she complained lightly, sitting back on her haunches. “Honestly, I can’t wait to get back to warrior duties.”

“It’s only been a moon,” Sunflank said, amused despite herself. She nudged her nose into her mate’s side, allowing her eyes to drift shut in contentment. “The kits are growing quickly.”

Lionwing let out a purr in response. “It’s almost time for their naming ceremonies. How time flies, doesn’t it? Next thing you know, they’ll be apprentices!”

The pair lapsed into silence, the sleepy aura surrounding the camp peaceful and still. Finally, Lionwing stood, stretching yet again. “I think I’ll take a short walk—just to stretch my legs. Stay here and watch the kits for me?”

“Of course,” Sunflank agreed.

For a split second, she could see the worry glinting in her mate’s eyes, and she knew it had to do with the recent attacks on the clans. The River Raids—as they had been dubbed due to the first attack occurring along the riverbank of Mistclan’s border—had began the summer before and had only increased in terms of violence and unpredictability as time passed. While most of the attacks had targeted Mistclan, there had been several incidents along all of the clans’ borders, including Cinderclan, that had left the whole forest on edge. However, over the winter, the raids had decreased, and the fear among the clans had faded as spring came without any reports of violence. Still, paranoia lingered—especially for new mothers.

Sunflank let her voice soften as she said, “You have nothing to worry about, Lion. Promise.”

Lionwing smiled and purred again. “I know,” she whispered, “I trust you, my dear Sunshine.” She lingered a moment longer, pressing her forehead to Sunflank’s briefly before finally strolling away, eyes upturned to the night sky.

Sunflank watched her go, feeling a small smile grow on her own face. For the past moon, Lionwing had mainly stayed in the nursery, nursing and grooming their kits while they grew. At this point, the kits were old enough to stumble around, clumsily play-fighting with each other and eager to escape the den and explore. It took a lot of energy for Lionwing to keep all four of them contained during the day—the least Sunflank could do was watch over them at night, while her mate took a much-deserved break.

Sunflank stuck her head into the nursery, eyes adjusting to the gloom and silently counting the four bundles cuddled up in a heap. Satisfied that they were still asleep—and would stay that way—she settled herself to sit at the entrance to the nursery, tilting her head back and breathing in the spring breeze.

She stayed like that for a long while—long enough that she almost drifted off to sleep. But off in the distance, somewhere in the undergrowth, Sunflank heard the unmistakable sound of a twig snapping.

Swivelling her ears, Sunflank let her eyes shoot open, scanning the edges of the camp for what could have caused the noise. It could have just been a prey-animal or the wind, but out of the corner of her eye, Sunflank spotted several shadows flicker by. Immediately she zeroed in on them, standing perfectly still and watching their progression around the edges of the camp.

On any other night, Sunflank would have written it off as apprentices fooling around and called out to scold them, sending them back to bed, but the fur along her spine was suddenly standing on end and her mouth snapped shut instinctively. Something didn’t feel right.

Sunflank narrowed her eyes at the shadows. Was she simply being paranoid? Sunflank was always cautious regarding her clan, and agreed that they shouldn’t let their guard down—but she was also rational. There had been no raids for several moons now, and besides, all the attacks on Cinderclan had occurred on their farthest Southeastern border. The other clans, closer to the lake, may have been wise to stay alert for more ambushes, but there was no way that anyone, least of all the Raiders, would be foolish enough to attack the center of Cinderclan’s camp.

Nevertheless, something was there, and Sunflank could feel an unexplainable terror sinking cold fangs around her heart. Opening her mouth slowly, she tasted the air against the roof of her mouth, eyes never leaving the mysterious shadowed forms. At first, there was nothing but the familiar odor of Cinderclan’s camp surrounding her. And then her blood froze. Sunflank knew the scent of every single one of her clanmates, and she knew the scents that the other clans carried—and this… this was something else entirely.

Whipping around, Sunflank stretched her mouth open to call out, to alert her clan to the danger, but was instead met with a pair of gleaming eyes. Without a sound, a paw slammed into her jaw, claws tearing through her flesh and fur as easily as a river split the land. A screech wrenched itself from Sunflank’s throat, and instinctively her arm lashed out, catching the side of the intruder as she jumped back.

There was no pause; as soon as Sunflank had regained her feet, the other cat was upon her, but she refused to be taken down by some mangy loner, even if they _were_ a Raider. Tangled in a mass of limbs, Sunflank tore into her opponent, feeling a fierce satisfaction in the way they screeched and fought to right themselves, obviously not expecting Sunflank to recover from their ambush so quickly. With a vicious snarl, Sunflank buried her fangs into the intruder’s shoulder, muscles rippling and spasming as she bodily threw the other cat aside.

Normally, she would be more restrained in her fighting—but this was her clan’s camp, and no more than five feet away, her small, defenseless kits were sleeping. There was no mercy left in Sunflank, and she saw the glint of fear in the intruder’s eyes as they realized it, too.

Pinning the cat by the neck, Sunflank peeled back her lips and bared her fangs as threateningly as possible. “Who are you?” she demanded, “what are you doing—”

Biting pain exploded in Sunflank’s shoulder and she screamed, letting go of the feline beneath her as she blindly lashed out. _More than one shadow_ , her mind feverishly supplied, _there was more than just one intruder, she had just been so wrapped up in the surprise attack that she had forgotten, and now_ , now… 

Sunflank was flung and dropped, and as she rolled onto her side, desperately trying to regain her feet, she locked eyes with the second intruder. It was a canine, twice her size, and she could see the movement of even more Raiders out of the corner of her eye, yet all she could focus on was the gaping maw closing around her face.

For a moment, time stood still. Sunflank could hear the commotion her fight with the other cat had caused, the way her clan was awake and surging forth to meet the camp’s invaders. She could hear the Raiders calling out to each other, abandoning their silence now that their ambush had been exposed. She could smell the budding flowers of spring, the lingering warmth of Lionwing, and the harsh, earthy stench of blood. But the worst—even worse than the yellowed fangs closing in on her—was the glimpse she had of the nursery’s entrance, where the tail of one of the Raiders was disappearing.

Then time unfroze. Sunflank’s throat seemed to tear with the force of her scream, her hind-legs desperately kicking out as the dog’s teeth hit her jaw-bone. A sudden flood of fluid seeped down the side of her face, and part of it was just blood, she knew, but the other part was her right eye rupturing. Stale breath wafted over her, and as the dog drew back, she felt the flesh rip away from her skull, the delicate skin of her ear shredded, and then she was being thrown again, tumbling through the air in a blur of pain and nausea and blinding panic.

Dazed, Sunflank scrabbled at the dirt, the treetops swaying in time with the howling of canines and the high-pitched ringing of her ears. A wail broke through her stupor, small and filled with unspeakable fear, and something in Sunflank broke as she realized it was the voice of a kit. _Their_ kits. 

Teeth were once again digging into the planes of her back, but this time, Sunflank didn’t feel it. Twisting until she felt something tear, she blindly slashed in the direction of the dog’s muzzle, stubbornly clinging as they yelped and attempted to drop her. A garbled noise rumbled in the back of her throat, drowning out her opponent’s howls, until finally, with one last frantic thrash, she was thrown loose.

Sunflank hauled herself to her feet, her chest reverberating with growls she could no longer hear but could still feel, and through the spotting vision of her one eye she could see the nursery’s entrance, the brambles askew and blood splattered from where bodies had been dragged into the open. A stranger stood over it all, and when they turned, their eyes gleamed with moonlight.

“Sunflank!” someone yowled, and Sunflank knew it was one of her clanmates, someone she would recognize if she turned to look, but all she could focus on was the Raider standing over the nursery’s den and the bodies too small to be warriors or even apprentices, and Sunflank could have thrown up if she wasn’t already launching forward, claws sinking into the throat of the intruder. She reached to bite, and belatedly realized that something was wrong, that the parts of her jaw that weren’t alit in white-hot agony were numb and unresponsive to her rage. Something scolding ran down her forehead, dripping over her nose and chin, and she couldn’t be sure if it was her blood or her opponent’s.

Sunflank felt the bubbling of oxygen leave the tattered throat of the Raider, the way their spasming limbs dug into her wounds, and she dropped them. Her feet felt wrong, though she wasn’t too sure why. Against her will, they gave out, and she dropped to her stomach, her uninjured shoulder propping her up as things started to drift. From what seemed like a distance, she could hear the call of Cinderclan warriors declaring their victory, could feel the pounding of retreating footsteps. They’d won. She was slumped outside the nursery, no strength left, but _they had won_.

Lolling her head to the side, Sunflank saw a blur of fur rushing her way. “Sunflank!” their voice whispered, “ _Sunflank!_ ”

Sunflank didn’t stay awake to see who it was.

…

Someone was crying. Their muffled sobs were something that Sunflank felt more than heard, like her head was underwater, and she couldn’t remember exactly why that made sense in that moment, but she knew it should. She breathed in, and almost immediately retched, her nostrils stinging with the sharp scents of herbs and blood, and the slight jostling made her body light up with an indescribable agony.

She must have made a noise; maybe screamed, even. Nothing could get through the feedback of white-noise as she tired to adjust, tried to push past her injuries, and it was the brush of a comforting tongue over her chest, attempting to calm her, that finally broke through the static. She’d never really had that happen before—the healer had often commented on her high pain tolerance, on how she could coolly walk off most wounds she gained in training and during border skirmishes, but oh Starclan, all of that was _nothing_ compared to what she felt now, it felt like she was _dying_ —

“ –k, ok, just breathe,” a voice soothed, and Sunflank latched onto it like a lifeline. The voice was familiar; something warm and honeysuckle-sweet, that rang with happy memories of playful teasing and sharing tongues on summer nights and promises in the snow.

“Lion,” Sunflank tried to say, but it was garbled and laced with heartache. She tried to blink open her eyes, wanting more than anything to see her mate, but something was thickly bundled over her right eye. After some struggle, her left eye finally opened, and through the gloom of what must have been the healer’s den, Sunflank sought Lionwing’s gaze.

Her mate seemed to look right through her, stormy eyes full of anguish. Sunflank’s stomach flipped again, but this time it was because her mouth had gone dry. The nursery. The bodies. The way Lionwing was desperately holding back more tears, shoulders shaking like her whole world was falling apart. The memory of a purring voice assuring her that she was trusted and loved.

“Ki—” she tried, her voice collapsing in on itself, “n-no…”

Lionwing gave a weak, raspy sob. It was all the answer Sunflank needed.

Something hysterical and grief-stricken exploded in Sunflank, and she tried to stand before Lionwing let out a gasp and pushed her back down. It didn’t matter, anyway; her legs immediately gave out. But Sunflank couldn’t feel any pain—either that, or it just simply didn’t register. All she could think about was how they’d already started to discuss names—names drawing on both their lineages, full of fire and pride and strength. Good names, that their kits could carry into their futures as warriors. Now… now those names were gone, their kits unnamed and lost to the stars, and Sunflank knew, inexplicably, that she was to blame. She was the one that had been there, the one that had…

“I promised,” she tried to say, “I promised, I promised, I said ‘here was nothin’ to worry ‘bout, I promised…” Her voice rose, frantic and disbelieving, and she might have been wailing, but she couldn’t tell and couldn’t care, because she had to make sure that Lionwing knew that she was “ _—sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—_ ”

“Shh, shh, my dear Sunshine,” Lionwing rasped. “My Sunshine, my Sunshine, it’s alright.”

“It’s not, Lion,” Sunflank insisted, “I let ‘hem—‘hey’re all—”

“They’re not all gone,” Lionwing choked out, cutting off her train of thought. “Our daughter, she’s safe. It’s ok, Sun.” She pressed her forehead to Sunflank’s, and even though her entire face felt like it was on fire, Sunflank leaned into it, fierce and hopeless and feeling like a kit again, too small for such a large world, unknowing of all the darkness that existed.

“Please,” Lionwing whispered, “I can’t lose you, too.”

“Lion,” she babbled, “our k-kits, our sons, _I’m sorry_.” A sob ripped out of her burning chest, and then another, and another, and Sunflank couldn’t remember ever feeling this way, so out of control and unrestrained, and for the first time in her life, she had no fight left in her. “ _I’m so sorry_ …” she breathed out, one last time, and Lionwing only pressed harder, as if she could absorb them both into one body. Sunflank wished she could.

She didn’t stop crying for a long, long time.

…

“How do you feel today, Sunflank?” Gentlemoon asked, busying herself with organizing the herbs stockpiled in the corner of her den.

Sunflank felt the fur along her back prickle. “Like I’m goin’ to claw your ears off if ya ask me ‘hat one more time,” she snarled. Her anger only grew at hearing the slurred quality of her voice, still not accustomed to the deafness of her right ear. Gentlemoon had said, in the beginning, that it probably had less to do with most of her ear being torn off and more to do with how many times she’d been thrown and hit her head. Sunflank just thought it was annoying.

“Of course,” Gentlemoon said mildly, “would you like some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”

Sunflank grit her teeth. “No,” she snapped, “I’m fine.” She could barely move due to pain, but she was sick of sleeping and could damn well tough it out for the time being.

Gentlemoon hummed in response, not even bothering to turn from her work. Trying not to feel like a sulking apprentice, Sunflank turned her back on the healer, shifting in the soft nest of moss that Lionwing had fretted over. It had been half a moon since the attack, in which the first quarter was lost to Sunflank in a haze of fever and grief, but Gentlemoon had declared her finally out of harm’s way.

Of course, everything was different now; she was blind and deaf on one side, and still could barely get up the energy to stand, but the fact she was alive at all was a miracle. And their kits…

She’d been unconscious for the burials.

A part of Sunflank, deep and hidden, expressed relief at that—her nightmares already contained too many images of tiny corpses as it was. They had been unnamed, too, so it couldn’t even be a proper burial. There was nothing to say, except a prayer to Starclan to take their spirits and give them to new bodies, and it made her feel ill to think about. She just wished she’d been there for her mate and daughter.

As if summoned, Lionwing poked her head into the healer’s den. “Is Sunflank—?” She brightened when Sunflank turned towards her. “Oh, my Sunshine! You’re awake! Are you up for visits?”

“I’m injured,” she said testily, “not invalid.” Immediately, she regretted her snappy comment. “Sorry,” she muttered, unable to meet her mate’s eyes.

Lionwing strolled into the den, letting her tail settle over her back as she sat next to her. “Sun, don’t worry about it. I know… it’s a lot.”

The words panged through her chest and Sunflank had to squeeze her remaining eye closed. “I’m not gonna give up, Lion.”

Lionwing’s voice softened. “I know. I trust you, Sunflank.”

“You shouldn’t; not after everything,” she spat out bitterly.

Lionwing leaned onto Sunflank’s uninjured shoulder, radiating warmth. “Listen very closely,” she said quietly, so that Gentlemoon wouldn’t overhear. “There was nothing you could do. You almost died trying to protect the nursery. I love you and you can never know how thankful I am that you are alive to raise our daughter. She needs you more than ever.”

Outside, the birds chirped cheerfully, and the murmur of the camp filtered in with the sunlight. They weren’t the only ones that had lost kits that night; two others had been killed as well. The only mother who hadn’t lost a child was the older warrior Sharpsong, and that was only because her children had been sick and in the healer’s den at the time. Despite the horrifying attack, life had continued on. Life _would_ continue on. 

“Ok,” Sunflank said, “ok.”

For a few minutes they just snuggled, carefree and sharing the warmth of their two bodies between them. Sunflank felt some of her pain ease as her shoulders released the tight ball of tension and shame she’d carried for days. Eventually, Lionwing stood, and Sunflank watched her retreat in silence, knowing she’d be back shortly. True to form, less than a minute passed before Lionwing appeared back at the entrance.

“Someone is here to see you,” she said, voice full of warmth. At her feet, their daughter shuffled in, eyes wide as she tried to adjust to the gloom.

Sunflank straightened up, wincing, not just because of the pain, but also because she wasn’t sure how her daughter would react. She hadn’t seen a reflection yet, but she knew her appearance wasn’t a pretty sight.

But the little kit only squeaked when she saw her, eyes gleaming. “Mommy!” She rushed forward, drawing up just before she hit Sunflank’s chest. “Mama said you were feeling better, right?”

“Course,” Sunflank said, turning her head to more properly look her over. She seemed fine, but Sunflank couldn’t help but lick her over the forehead anyway, ignoring the small mew of protest. Looking up, the small kit clumsily leaned forward and pressed her forehead to hers, and Sunflank blinked, the breath knocked right out of her with the force of her relief. Lionwing purred, much quieter than usual, but still there, and settled herself down next to Sunflank again.

Belatedly, Sunflank realized she was shaking. Thankfully, neither of them seemed to notice—their kit was too busy trying to groom herself, watching Lionwing for instruction as she swiped a paw over her head. “Like this, my little short-stack,” Lionwing coaxed, smiling Sunflank’s way, and she allowed herself to smile back.

The afternoon drawled on, heavy with heat and the noises of the forest. At one point, Sunflank drifted off and only awoke when Gentlemoon prodded her, giving her a look as she nodded towards the dose of herbs she had to take. As the sun set over the horizon, casting shadows down the sides of the den, Sunflank leaned on her mate and watched their daughter sleep, curled into Lionwing’s ruff. 

It was a commotion from the head of the camp, a swell in alarmed voices, that had Sunflank on her feet before she had even registered what was going on. The fur bristled along her back, the echoes of barking dogs thrumming through her memory, a reminder of pain and blood and death. A snarl ripped out of her throat, broken and disjointed, and even though her legs burned and trembled, she lurched forward, prepared to die before she failed to protect her family again.

“Sunflank!” Lionwing shouted, and Sunflank pulled back as her mate’s gentle grey eyes filled her vision. “It’s ok,” she soothed, “I’ll go see what’s going on; stay here and rest.”

Before Sunflank could protest, Lionwing had turned and hurried away. Gentlemoon followed on her heels, raising one eyebrow at Sunflank as she passed. Ignoring both of them, Sunflank limped her way to the den’s entrance, looking out over the camp. Half the clan was already gathered at the center, all of them still on alert from the Raider’s attack, and they formed a circle around a small feline—no more than an apprentice—that was laying on the ground with heaving sides. Everyone was talking at once, so that Sunflank couldn’t pick out what was happening.

“What’s going on?” The leader’s voice quelled the commotion and the clan members closest to the newcomer stood back.

“Please,” gasped the stranger. They heaved in another breath, struggling to form words. “I ran—the whole way—under attack— _please_ —”

“Stand back,” commanded Gentlemoon. With a tender paw, she rubbed the young cat’s back. “Get your breath back and tell us what you need. You smell of Mistclan—why are you in our territory?”

Inhaling sharply, they said, “Mistclan’s camp is—under attack! The Raiders! They’re not stopping and—and—we need to stop them!” Tears flooded the apprentice’s eyes. “Please, they’re gonna slaughter my clan!”

“We discussed this at the emergency gathering,” Cinderclan’s leader declared, “that the clans must band together against this threat. We must end this bloodshed, now! Warriors; organize who will fight and who will stay to defend the camp. We head out immediately.”

Chaos broke out instantly. Warriors darted off in all directions, the deputy’s voice rising as they called out instructions, while Gentlemoon continued to rub the poor Mistclan apprentice’s shaking shoulders. Lionwing was easy to pick out; her broad shoulders and fluffy coat meant Sunflank could spot her instantly. She was running back to the healer’s den and blinked in surprise when Sunflank locked eyes with her, obviously startled to see that she’d been watching the whole scene.

“You should be resting,” she scolded, skidding up next to her.

“I want to fight.”

Lionwing scowled, a rare look on her that made Sunflank take a step back. “Absolutely not! You can barely walk, Sunflank. Don’t be stupid.”

“Then stay.”

“No,” she said heatedly, “I need to fight! I need to make them pay for what they did to us—for what they did to _you_.” Lionwing swallowed roughly, her eyes shimmering with fire and steel. “I need to fight.”

Sunflank, for not the first time in her life, was left tongue-tied by her mate. She could see the resolve, the anger, the very lines of her body stiffening with righteousness and holy fury. Lionwing would fight—and she would define her namesake in strength and swiftness and all the million ways she was good in both heart and soul.

“Mama?” whispered their daughter. She had crept up, crouching next to Sunflank’s side, and was now peering nervously between the both of them.

“My baby, my kit, my brave little short-stack,” Lionwing said, leaning down to groom the top of her head. “I love you. You stay with your Mom and be good, ok? Listen to everything she says.”

Their daughter blinked up at them, gazing at Lionwing with such innocence that Sunflank’s throat tightened. “Ok, Mama,” she agreed.

Lionwing looked up, and after a moment’s pause, she pressed her forehead to Sunflank’s. It radiated heat and a fierceness that flared down Sunflank’s spine. It was peering up at the leader, the forest ringing with purpose; the ache of a long day of training and the cold chill of a futile hunt; it was the memory of promises and flowers decorating the both of them as they held their bonding ceremony, the yowled congratulations of their clanmates drowned out as they just gazed into each other’s eyes, such an unlikely pair, and yet together—together—

(Sunflank felt loved.)

Lionwing pulled away all too soon, jaw set into a thin line of determination. “Take care of yourself,” she said, “and take care of our daughter.”

“I promise,” Sunflank said softly.

Lionwing nodded. With one last lick to their daughter’s head, and a fond look Sunflank’s way, she ran. As she followed the rest of the warriors out of the camp, heading in the direction of Mistclan’s territory, she looked back just once, and Sunflank’s mind froze the image of her mate like a photograph. The sunglow between her shoulders; the ruffled quality of her pelt, still the same as when she was an apprentice; her shadow eagerly lunging away from her paws, rippling over the ground; and the storm of her eyes that promised so much.

She didn’t know it would be the very last time she saw life in those familiar grey eyes.

…

…

…

Sunflank didn’t speak a word during the burial.

…

…

…

Sunflank named her daughter Shortkit—a name that held little fire or pride, that was perhaps an underestimation for such a brave young kit that held strong in the death surrounding her. But Lionwing’s nickname echoed both through the trees and Sunflank’s mind, and when the time came for the kit to receive the name she deserved, all Sunflank could think was that it was _their_ kit, not hers. More than anything, Sunflank knew that Shortkit would prove herself beyond any name she was given. She was Lio—their daughter, after all.

It took time, Sunflank knew, for things to pass, yet the moons seemed to fly by, until the ache in her chest remained more painful than the wounds decorating her right side. It was equally shocking to look up and realize that Shortkit’s apprentice ceremony had dawned—that their kit wasn’t so much a kit anymore, and she was now an eager young apprentice who spoke determinedly of being a warrior.

“You don’t have to watch me so close, Mom!” Shortpaw said, a smile curling over her lips. In the beginning, Sunflank had attended training so she could recover her own strength and return to her warrior duties; now, however, she found herself lingering over the apprentice training even though she was officially healed.

“I know,” she replied. There was no reason behind her careful watching other than the obvious, and Sunflank knew Shortpaw was much too smart to not see it. Nevertheless, she simply smiled wider and flicked her tail on her mother’s shoulder, seemingly amused by the hovering rather than annoyed like some of the other apprentices acted when their parents checked up on their training.

Sunflank narrowed her eyes at the approach of Snowpaw, a young canine that seemed to have befriended her daughter. “Come on, Shortpaw,” she grumbled, “we’re supposed to go practice hunting today.” She shot a wary look Sunflank’s way, as if she could sense the tension seeping into Sunflank’s veins.

It wasn’t fair, she knew—Snowpaw was a member of their clan, and was no more than an apprentice, anyway. And yet, Sunflank felt the hair along her spine instinctively rise at the sight of the canine, of the muzzle filled with fangs and the voice that always had a growl beneath it. She could not trust dogs anymore, not after all they had stolen from her.

But she knew what her mate would have said: _There is no blame to be placed on her breed. You cannot blame an innocent for things in the past._

Forcing the tension from her shoulders, Sunflank nodded to the pair of apprentices, keeping her expression neutral. “Go on, then, troublemaker; do not keep your apprentice-mate waiting.”

Snowpaw arched an eyebrow suspiciously at her, unable to hide the emotions flickering over her face at such a young age, and Sunflank could tell she was debating whether or not to confront the older warrior for her hidden hostility. Shortpaw prodded at her, however, and she turned her gaze away to follow her friend out of the camp.

“We’ll be back later!” Shortpaw called out. “Bye, Mom!”

After everything, Shortpaw should have been withdrawn, scarred. She should have recoiled from the horrifying canvas of torn flesh and hardened scars that crusaded down her mother’s face. She should have retreated to silence and grief and anger when her Mama never returned from battle, just as Sunflank had. But Shortpaw was a star that brightened the night, that never stopped shining, and which lit a path into a future that Sunflank had never imagined.

Sunflank watched the apprentices run off, and didn’t follow even though she desperately wanted to.

…

The leader had never seemed more like a leader than he did at his perch, looking down at the assembly of the clan, and Sunflank swallowed the emotions overwhelming her, pride and love and grief all swelling in her chest until she thought she might explode.

“Shortpaw,” the leader called, “come forward.” Sunflank’s daughter, her sole surviving child, lifted her chin and looked up at the leader, her tail trembling with excitement. She took after Sunflank, with a smooth orange coat and shining yellow eyes, and she had grown into an elegant young feline—and yet, in that moment, all Sunflank could see was a fluffy, bright-eyed kit bouncing on the tip of her toes, full of a boundless energy and joy.

“I, leader of Cinderclan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as a warrior in their turn. Shortpaw, so you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Shortpaw stood tall, peering up at the leader with steadfast promise. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan,” the leader called, “I give you your warrior name. Shortpaw, from this moment on—and by your request—you will be known as Shortsun. StarClan honors your bravery and optimism, and we welcome you as a full warrior of Cinderclan.”

Echoes of “Shortsun! Shortsun!” rang through the treetops, and Sunflank inhaled sharply, wondering if her deaf side had jumbled her daughter’s warrior name. But no, after Shortsun accepted the leader’s touch to her forehead, she strode with purposeful steps across the clearing, eyes gleaming with that oh-so-familiar brightness.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “that I asked to be named after you.” Her expression faltered, flickering over Sunflank’s face, and she quietly said, “I know you thought I’d be named after Mama, but you’re the one that raised me, Mom. You’ve always been watching over me.”

“Shortsun,” Sunflank said, testing the name on her tongue. It was fitting; it was Lionwing’s affection and Sunflank’s fierceness, a combination of love and pride and growing into one’s self. It suited their daughter and the way she had fought with a smile since her childhood.

Tucking her daughter’s head under her scarred chin, Sunflank let her remaining eye drift shut. “Your Mama would like it,” she said, “and she’d be proud of you, Shortsun.”

Sunflank didn’t cry, even when their daughter did.

…

The scent of the nursery was familiar, eager to drag Sunflank into conflicting memories of both beginnings and ends. At the entrance, Gentlemoon blinked slowly at her, and after all the time Sunflank had spent in her company during her rehabilitation, she could recognize the amusement hidden behind her calm expression.

Flicking her tail, she strode past the healer. “My daughter?” she demanded, fully prepared to swipe a claw at Gentlemoon, healer status be damned, if she tried to mess with her.

“All is well,” she replied, “no problems.”

Sunflank nodded. “Can I see her?”

Déjà vu swept over Sunflank as Gentlemoon simply stepped aside, dipping her head to her. In the corner of the den, already sitting up, Shortsun beamed as Sunflank walked over, leaning down to give her a single lick over the head.

“Hello,” she purred, “ready to meet your grandkits, grandma?”

“I’m still much too young to be called grandma,” Sunflank deadpanned, but crouched anyway so she could examine Shortsun’s litter. All of them had inherited the same sunshine-orange fur that their mother and grandmother had—although, Sunflank noted, their pelts were much fluffier. Tiny noises squeaked out of the three kits as they blindly squirmed at their mother’s belly, and Sunflank felt that spark she’d felt years before, the mindless devotion that told her she would endure the scars across her body and the moons of rehabilitation all over again if it meant protecting the kits before her.

“They’re good,” she said, reeling in the memories threatening to drown her.

Shortsun attempted a weak swat at her shoulder, letting out an amused sound. “Aw,” she teased, “you love them, don’t ya, _grandma_?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Sunflank retorted, but she let herself smile anyway. “They’re beautiful, you little troublemaker. And I’m sure they’ll all be troublemakers, too.”

“You bet!” Shortsun said cheerfully, “and I’m sure their grandma is going to be there to get them out of it, isn’t she?”

“Course,” Sunflank said. Giving into her emotions, she buried her nose in Shortsun’s shoulder, breathing in her scent and silently communicating her love. Much like her mate had, Shortsun had long since deciphered the deeper emotions connected to Sunflank’s actions, and she purred in response, giving her mother’s shoulder an affectionate lick. 

Sunflank let warmth settle over her, and tried very hard not to think of what her mate would say, in that peaceful moment, of what it felt like to be a grandmother.

…

Sunflank’s shoulder gave a twinge, her old wounds aching deep in the muscle as she dug at the frozen earth. Scowling, she shook out her icy paws and grabbed a mouthful of herbs, sickeningly used to the bitter taste that flooded her mouth. It wasn’t the most extravagant of duties, but a sickness was sweeping through the clans, and Gentlemoon didn’t have time anymore to collect her own herbs. She was too busy conferring with the other healers on the clan’s borders—in between caring for their sick clanmates—and Sunflank understood that others had to carry out her collecting duties. Still, the repetitive picking and digging was wearing Sunflank down quicker than she had expected.

It was frustrating; even after all the years that had passed, she still had never regained her full strength. As it was, it had taken more than six moons just to adjust to her one-sided senses and learn how to hunt and fight again with her newfound disabilities. Shortsun would have encouraged her, reminded her that instead of giving up she’d trained alongside her daughter and returned to her warrior duties, despite what other clanmates thought. She’d defied the odds just by surviving her injuries—it was an even greater feat that she had returned to serving her clan as fiercely as she had beforehand. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

Sunflank flinched as another wave of pain tore through her, her shoulder muscles tensing from the winter chill and hard labour. Reluctantly, as she gathered up the roots she’d dug out, she conceded that she should probably ask Gentlemoon for something to ease the pain. Maybe some poppy seeds so she could have a dreamless sleep that night.

There was a loud crunch in the undergrowth, and Sunflank pricked her ears, trying to catch a scent between the plants hanging out of her mouth. She relaxed as she recognized Shortsun’s scent, but then she frowned—a year had passed and Shortsun was pregnant again with another litter. She shouldn’t have been walking around alone, and _definitely_ shouldn’t have been wandering so far from the camp, especially during the winter months.

“Unbelievable!” The unmistakable voice of her daughter broke the silence, hissing with a malice that was rare for her. “Absolutely… how can she just, just… urgh!”

Catching a glimpse of her bright pelt between the bare trees, Sunflank called out to her daughter—or at least, she tried to, around her mouthful of herbs. Nevertheless, Shortsun heard her and swung her head in her direction, striding up to her mother with quick steps.

“Mom,” she said, her voice deep with frustration, “did you need help with that?”

Ignoring that, Sunflank flicked her tail on Shortsun’s shoulder. “You a’ight?” she asked.

Twitching, Shortsun started in the direction of the camp, Sunflank following at her side. “It’s nothing,” she said tensely, “I’m just… frustrated.”

Not willing to try to talk again while they were moving, Sunflank simply tilted her head, prompting her to continue.

“It’s just…” Shortsun dipped her chin, focusing on her feet; a habit that Sunflank remembered from her childhood, for when she was unsure of herself. “The clans are in chaos. The sickness… they’re calling it the Black Sleep. Warriors are dying off left and right, and the healers don’t know what to do. And I was trying to convince her to come back with me, to meet her kits in case—” Shortsun snapped her mouth shut, her expression hardening. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it?”

Sunflank remained silent. She had never learned who Shortsun had mated with. She had assumed, like the rest of the clan, that it had been chance occurrences with a loner. But from what Shortsun had said, it seemed that both her litters would share the same parent—and that Shortsun was closer to the mysterious cat than anyone had thought. It occurred to Sunflank, only then, that her daughter might be in love. And it seemed her lover didn’t love her back.

Sunflank repressed the surge of overprotective anger that rose in her chest at that thought, and instead gently butted Shortsun’s side, casting her what she hoped was a reassuring look. Sunflank had never been very good at outward displays of emotion even before half her face had been scarred over, after all. Even so, Shortsun seemed to calm a bit, her expression settling into a loose line of worry and frustration as they continued to walk side-by-side.

They were approaching the camp when Sunflank realized their pace had slowed. Shortsun’s sides heaved, her breath steaming in the air as she panted, and Sunflank looked back just in time to watch her eyes roll back in her head. The herbs fell from Sunflank’s mouth as she shouted, crouching next to her daughter as Shortsun dizzily stared up at the sky from where she’d collapsed.

“Oh,” she said, “I don’t feel so well. I thought it was just a stomach bug, but I’m so tired…”

A chill went down Sunflank’s spine. She had heard that before, from the sick cats laying comatose in the healer’s den. What appeared to be a common cold quickly devolved into tiredness and stomach pain, before the warriors became so sick they could barely lift their heads to drink the water dripped into their mouths. Shortsun’s anger had carried her thus far, but now that her emotions had settled, it seemed the illness had seeped in and would not be ignored.

“Mom?” she whispered, attempting to stand, “what’s wrong?” Realization flashed in her eyes and she paled. “Oh.”

Sunflank abandoned the herbs where they lay, helping Shortsun stand and practically carrying her the last of the way to the camp. The clearing was in complete disarray; the prey pile was pitiful and old nest moss was left laying out in the open. Gentlemoon hurried over from where she had just exited the healer’s den, and the dark circles under her eyes and ruffled fur were so out of place for the old healer that Sunflank felt her mouth go dry.

“Another one,” she said grimly. “This is bad. Shortsun is the third today to collapse.”

“How many have died so far?” Sunflank asked. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t asked, terror clutching her throat at Gentlemoon’s grim look.

“According to the other healers, the death toll is now at ten throughout the clans. And worsening fast.” Her voice lowered. “None of the usual cures are working. Warriors keep getting sick, and there’s nothing we can do but try to make them comfortable.”

As they settled Shortsun on a bed of moss, crammed next to several other sick clanmates, she refused to take her eyes off of Gentlemoon. “Please,” she murmured, “if I’m sick, what’s going to happen to my litter?”

Gentlemoon avoided her eyes, and Sunflank didn’t dare to speak.

…

The world was hazy around the edges. In the back of her mind, Sunflank knew she was sick, but she couldn’t remember why. The last thing she remembered was sitting at her daughter’s bedside, grooming her when she whimpered at stomach pains and squeezing dew-soaked moss into her slack mouth. She remembered the gleaming, scared eyes of her grandkits, now apprentices, peeking into the den before Gentlemoon had shooed them away. Gentlemoon had tried to get Sunflank to leave, too, out of concern that she would become sick as well, but she had refused to budge. It seemed the healer had been right though, and Sunflank had caught whatever plague was bombarding the clans.

Voices whispered at the edge of her consciousness. “Please drink,” echoed a voice, like it was coming from down a long tunnel. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Opening her single eye, Sunflank watched the brambles above her spin, shadows blending together and the light poking between the branches like stars in the night sky. It was beautiful, she thought, in an absent-minded way that felt unlike herself. Cool water dripped onto her chin, and blinking, she attempted to focus. Her tongue eagerly lapped at the water, only then realizing how thirsty she really was. The water tasted like the earth, fragrant and dusty.

“You’re not Gentlemoon,” she told the brambles, the revelation dawning on her like someone had hit her over the head. The echoing voice—it wasn’t the soft, calm monotone she was used to. It took her a moment to recognize that the unfamiliar white fur belonged to Emberpaw, Gentlemoon’s apprentice. The young cat was shaking, her eyes hooded as she folded up a bundle of herbs.

“No,” she said quietly, “I’m not.”

“Where is she?” Sunflank demanded. The healer may have been irritating at times, but she was wise—Sunflank trusted her to take care of their clan, especially her sick daughter. Shortsun was pregnant, after all, and needed all the best care. “I need her to check on Shortsun.” 

“She can’t,” Emberpaw said, and her young voice shook even more than her small paws. “She passed away a couple of days ago.”

A shock jolted Sunflank’s body and she tried to stand up, but her head immediately spun faster and her stomach clenched, forcing her to slump back down as she weakly retched in pain.

“Shh,” Emberpaw soothed, gently rubbing Sunflank’s shoulders as she tried to breathe. The apprentice’s voice was full of tears, but determined. “Shh, it’ll pass. Just rest.”

“My daughter,” Sunflank rasped, “where is Shortsun?”

“She’s still here,” Emberpaw said. “I promise, I’ll take care of her.”

Sunflank tried to tell her that it shouldn’t have been her burden, that she was only an apprentice and older, more experienced warriors should have been dealing with the crisis—but she simply didn’t have the strength to remain conscious any longer. 

…

In her dreams, Sunflank heard someone sobbing. For a time, she thought it was Lionwing, that she was younger and her face was torn open like fresh-caught prey and her failure to protect the nursery was a gaping wound she hadn’t yet realized. But that was wrong. Lionwing had died years ago. Sunflank hadn’t seen her mate in so, so long. The weeping at her bedside was Shortsun.

Vaguely, she would become coherent and listen to her daughter’s rambling voice. “The clans are dying. The leader is dead, and… and so is the d-deputy.” The deputy, Cherryfall, had been Shortsun’s apprentice-mate; one of her best friends, Sunflank remembered. “And Snowstorm,”—Shortsun’s other apprentice-mate, little Snowpaw who had always warily watched Sunflank with icy blue eyes—“she ran. She ran, Mom, she ran away. I’m alone now, and Emberpaw doesn’t know if my litter will survive, and, and…” She dry-sobbed, the grief so fresh and raw that it cut through Sunflank like a knife.

She leaned her forehead to her kit’s, wincing at their combined fever settling like a bonfire in her bones, and told her it would be ok, that she loved her, that she was proud of her, and she listened to her cry and mourn and wished she could absorb all of Shortsun’s pain into her own body. She wished for everything to be over, to be able to sleep without pain in her stomach and bones, without the shaking voice of an apprentice-healer desperate to save her clanmates dying off like flies, without the wailing silence of the camp’s clearing, piled with bodies that nobody had the time or energy to mourn. Sunflank wanted peace.

At a certain point, she awoke alone. The light of the dawn peeked through the healer’s den, and she could hear the weak mewls of a kit nearby. Lifting her head, she watched Emberpaw groom the scrap of fur at her feet, the way tufts of orange fur stuck up with each unsteady stroke. Her mouth was dry and her body ached, but for the first time in a long time, Sunflank felt clear-headed.

“Let me help,” she rasped. Emberpaw startled, looking up with wide, tired eyes. Sunflank wondered when the last time she had slept was.

Feeling stiff, Sunflank stood. Agony bloomed through her, but she was well-versed in pain by now, and she simply gritted her teeth against it. With small steps, she crossed the den and pulled the kit away, ducking her head to groom them herself. They squirmed a bit beneath her hold, much smaller and weaker than Sunflank knew was healthy, but they were alive. Amid a den of death, they were _alive_.

“H-he’ll be alright,” Emberpaw stuttered. She stifled a yawn, wavering a bit on her feet. “They’re premature but… I managed to save him, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Sunflank assured her, “you did. Thank you.”

“Sunflank,” Emberpaw sniffled, “I’m so sorry, but the mother didn’t make it—she was already sick, and giving birth…”

A hush stretched over the pair, as Sunflank ceased grooming the kit at her feet, staring at the kit’s smooth, orange pelt that was achingly familiar. “Oh,” she said, numbness stealing over her heart. “I see.”

“I’m so sorry,” Emberpaw whispered, “I did all I could.” She hesitated, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue. “Before she passed… she was coherent enough to ask to name him. It’s not customary, and he’s so weak I’m not sure if he’ll make it, but…”

“What did Shortsun want to name him?” Sunflank broke in.

“Firekit. She said… she said she wanted him to burn even brighter than herself.”

Slumping down, Sunflank felt Emberpaw startle, obviously alarmed at her collapse, but Sunflank was fine. She just needed to lay down. She needed to rest her aching limbs and pull the little kit—her daughter’s son, the christened Firekit—under her chin, where his warmth seeped into her chest. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.

Sunflank didn’t want to focus on anything else, in that moment.

…

The warmth of the summer sun was a balm on Sunflank’s aching muscles. Her tail twitched restlessly, battling between pure contentment at the heat soaking through her fur, and a burning frustration that she was so idle. A part of her didn’t want to lounge in the center of Cinderclan’s camp; she wanted to be out in the shaded thickets, hunting prey and breathing in the hot forest air, the ground dry and cracked after a solid week without rain.

It had been moons, but she still wasn’t used to her retirement. The combination of her old injuries and fighting off the Black Sleep had finally incapacitated her for good, and Embermoon was fairly positive that no amount of training would return her to her previous strength. It was a hard pill to swallow, but Sunflank couldn’t deny her limitations, the crippling weight of her body that could no longer perform warrior duties, despite the fact she was still quite young.

Embermoon had, tentatively, suggested that perhaps grief was part of the reason for her weaning strength, but had dropped it when Sunflank had lashed out at her. Sunflank could fight through anything—anything but her own lack of motivation, it seemed. She simply did not have backbone to defy the odds yet again. What was the point?

“Wait up, wait up!” yelped a voice, and tumbling out of the apprentice’s den, Sunflank lazily watched as Firepaw scrambled out of the entrance. On his heels followed his friend, the eager-eyed pup named Wolfpaw. The pair of them were giggling, Firepaw darting back and forth as Wolfpaw fell into a playful bow, tail wagging a mile a minute. They were so full of energy that just looking at them was making Sunflank tired.

“Grandma!” Firepaw called, spotting her. He abandoned their game, trotting over to her side with paws much too big for his body and fur sticking up in uneven, messy tufts. “What’re you doing?”

“What does it look like?” she asked.

“Sleepin’?”

She let out a grunt, tilting her chin back to let the sun fall over her scarred face. The warmth really _was_ soothing. She heard the thump as Firepaw sat down in front of her, the stir of air as his tail twitched back and forth. With a sigh, she turned her face and studied him, his eyes bright as cinders and green as the forest surrounding them.

“You want a story, don’t you?” she asked.

Firepaw cast a look at Wolfpaw, who was hovering behind him. “We have some free time before we’re supposed to meet our mentors at the sand pit. I wanted you to tell Wolfpaw about mom!” Lowering his voice, although she was sure Wolfpaw could still hear, he whispered to her, “He doesn’t have a mom either, ya know.”

She did know. Most of the apprentices following the Black Sleep were missing at least one parent, if not both.

Sunflank met the gaze of Wolfpaw, and felt a smile tug at her face. The wariness etching lines into his forehead was something she recognized—there was no doubt in her mind that he was the son of Snowstorm, her daughter’s best friend that had disappeared during the plague without a trace. Sunflank wouldn’t say anything, though. She suspected, that like Firepaw, his mother had kept his parentage a secret for a reason.

“Well then,” she said, sitting up a bit, “I suppose I can do that.” She nodded her head, waiting for Wolfpaw to sit next to Firepaw while she gathered her thoughts.

“Your mother was a brilliant warrior,” she began. “She was my only kit, but she exceeded any and all expectations I could have had. It wasn’t just her bravery that shone through—it was the way she always smiled, no matter what. She saw the light in the deepest darkness.” She took a moment to lick Firepaw’s forehead, smoothing down his messy fur and ignoring the way he squirmed in protest. “It was common in the clan to hear her laugh, or to hear someone else laugh because of her.”

“What about when she was an apprentice,” Firepaw blurted out, “tell us that!”

Sunflank narrowed her eye at him. “She was a troublemaker. Always butting into everyone’s business and running around with her two friends and apprentice-mates: Cherryfall and Snowstorm.” Sunflank saw the way Wolfpaw straightened up a bit out of the corner of her eye, and felt amusement blossom in her chest. “That trio got into more trouble than all of the other apprentices combined. But they were fine warriors, in the end. Just like you two will be. If you concentrate on your training, that is.”

“We will!” they both chimed. Ah, youth.

“See that you do,” Sunflank said sternly, sitting back. “Better run along, then; never keep your mentor waiting.”

“Embermoon says you always used to disobey your mentor,” Firepaw jabbed cheekily, eyes shining with mischief.

Sunflank couldn’t stop the purr that burst from her, rusty and soft. It was like looking in a mirror; a reflection of generations radiating in a fiery pelt that stuck up in tufts no matter how much it was groomed and eyes that held nothing but innocence and eagerness for the future. “You remind me of Lionwing,” she said, and the words grated at her throat as they escaped.

But Firepaw’s expression only brightened. “Really?” he gasped in awe. “Grandma was a hero, wasn’t she? She was so brave, and fought the Raiders in the Final River Raid! That’s so cool!”

“Yes.” Sunflank dipped her head onto her paws, suddenly wanting the conversation to be over. “Yes, she did.”

Obviously sensing the change in mood, Firepaw’s expression fell. “What was she like?”

Like the moonlight illuminating the leader’s perch. Like a song, sweeter than the summer wind, and a dance more fluid than a rushing stream. Like ridiculously fluffy fur, soft touches, the crunch of hardened snow beneath confident paws, like blood and flowers between two lovers, and nicknames that sounded like home. Like a promise.

“She was the greatest warrior I’ve ever known,” Sunflank finally said, “…and I loved her more than all the stars in the sky.”

The two young apprentices gazed up at her with wonder, Firepaw’s mouth slightly agape at her soft words. He was still young, and not fully used to the manner in which her emotions manifested—but he was still innocent, too. He could understand the sincerity that inspired soft words from such a prickly, scarred mouth. He understood love.

“Sunflank,” Wolfpaw said hesitantly, swallowing nervously as her gaze settled on him. “Can I ask something?”

“Yes.”

“…Do you miss her?”

Sunflank let her lids slide shut, listening to the bird-song and summer wind. “Yes,” she whispered, “I miss her everyday. But I know she’s in Starclan, watching over us.”

“Is that true?” he asked, hope evident in his voice.

“I feel her in my dreams.” 

“But I thought only leaders and healers could talk to Starclan?”

“That’s right; I can’t see or hear her, but I can _feel_ her. I know when she’s with me.” Of that, Sunflank was positive.

Abruptly, Sunflank stretched, waving a paw at the apprentices without opening her eye. “Now go; you have training.” Her ear twitched at both of their murmured thanks, the pair of them scrambling out of the camp and chattering to each other in low, awed voices, but she didn’t move or open her eye again to watch them go.

She simply breathed in deeply, and didn’t think of the pain that had nothing to do with her crippled body.

…

Sunflank watched wisps of clouds drift past her, blurry and dazzlingly white. When she looked down, she could not see the ground, but she felt no fear—she had nothing to fear, not here, she knew.

She inhaled the clean scent that only existed in her dreams, like wild roses and fresh rain without the heaviness of wet earth. As she moved forward, she knew, in a way that only knowledge provided by a sleeping mind could, that she was whole once again. No scars tightened the side of her cheek and jaw; there was no tugging deep within the muscles as she walked; and more than anything, she felt the twin brush of her eyelids when she blinked. She felt young, and alive, and like her only purpose existed to be a warrior and defend the clan she loved.

The clouds seeped away at her thought. They were less white now, and more grey; less air and more thick fog, swirling over her paws. She could tell she was walking through a forest, but when she looked up, there were no stars to be seen in the night. Still, Sunflank walked on, until she knew that she should stop. Lifting her chin, she breathed in once, twice, and on her third exhale, a presence pressed itself to her side.

Her eyes slid shut—she didn’t need to see or hear. All she needed was the phantom press at her side, the touch of warmth winding like vines over her whole body. A gentle motion moved down her spine, soothing and familiar in a way that immediately made tears spring to her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to remain stoic.

“ _I miss you_ ,” she breathed out, her voice echoing and hollow, yet containing so much emotion that it sounded alien to her own ears. “ _I miss you._ ”

The clouds swirled, the warmth folding into her like the drape of a sleeping body, like the intertwining of steaming breaths in the winter and the solemn stretch of a warrior vigil through the night. Sunflank could only press into it, into that darkness and familiarity that made her feel safer than anything ever had. The wind ruffled along the fur of her jawline, and in it she heard the murmur of a voice: _I miss you, too._

“ _I have given everything,”_ Sunflank said. “ _I gave my body, my spirit, my love—all for my clan. I’ve proven myself beyond repair. And yet—none of that matters, because all I want is YOU.”_

The warmth encircled her, and tears began to fall, something in her chest cracking open and bleeding out. It reminded her of a night so, so long ago, when it had felt like her whole world was ending.

She hadn’t spoken a word during the burial, but afterwards she’d slipped away from the camp—despite the fact she could barely walk—and she’d ventured into the night until she was far enough away that she was totally and utterly alone. Only the trees and rocks had heard her screams, the way she swore and cursed the sky, and Starclan, and herself, herself, _herself_ , for not preventing this, for _failing_ , until her words spiralled into nothing but wordless wailing. She remembered the burn of her throat, the way even the air had felt like it was choking her, tear-tracks burning salt into her wounds, and she remembered only returning to the camp as the sun had risen, silent and angry and holding it all in her chest.

But the warmth was there, now. She knew, as she dry-sobbed in the space of her dream, that it understood. She had always understood, even when Sunflank hadn’t herself.

“ _I miss you, Lion. And I love you more than you will ever know._ ”

And the clouds whispered: _I love you, too, my Sunshine._

Someday, they both knew, they would be together again—but even when apart, their love existed. It was a promise that extended beyond life and death. It was a love that Sunflank had both repressed and surrendered, that she had grown into and would never forget. All she could do now was smile—smile and cry and surround herself with the knowledge that Lionwing, her best friend, her mate, was there and would always, _always_ , be there.

( _Promise_.)

When Sunflank awoke, she realized that silent tears had soaked into the fur of her scarred face and her cheeks were strained from smiling. Sitting up, she retreated outside, sitting on the edges of the camp and watching Starclan dance across the night.

And for the first time in a long time, Sunflank didn’t ache at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> fuck wc canon, here's some relevant lore notes for my oc universe:  
> -Sunflank is a trans lesbian but it is not mentioned in-story because cats don't give a fuck about gender or sexuality.  
> -Healers take the suffix -moon, much like leaders take the suffix -star.  
> -"Bonding ceremonies" = kitty weddings.  
> -Due to the dubious survival rates, kits are not named until they are a moon old. It is believed that being named "settles" the soul, and therefore, nameless kits will have the chance to be reborn if they die early on. This is why it was a bit unconventional that Shortsun named Firekit immediately after his birth.  
> -Yes, canine warriors exist in this universe. I won't bore you with my extensive lore justifying it. 
> 
> if you have any questions or comments, you can hmu [@blackfirewolf](https://blackfirewolf.tumblr.com/)


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